Escapade (9781301744510) (32 page)

And how did she feel about him? The same. He
was fairly sure of it, could read it in her eyes and taste it in
her kiss. Why then did she hesitate to accept his offer of
marriage? He didn't think it had anything to do with the warning
Tessa had given. Rory had never paid much attention to that, even
when Zeke had urged her to do so.

What then? She had never said so, but it was
likely something to do with his attitude over her damned balloons.
He wished he could understand, but he couldn't and it was owing to
more than his own fear of heights. He had seen her come through two
hair's-breadth escapes flying those blasted contraptions. He was
damned if he would risk losing her that way again.

Almost unconsciously, his arms tightened
about her. The movement roused her from the half-drowsy state into
which she had drifted. She looked up, surprised, noting the
moonlight spilling over the pathway.

"It's getting late," she said. "I wonder what
happened to Duffy."

"I don't know, but we can't sit here on the
bench all night. That's one sure way to attract the notice of the
coppers."

They had agreed to take the chance of
slipping back to Rory's flat, when Zeke saw a hackney coach drawing
to a halt at the edge of the park. Duffy leaped out, barely taking
time to pay off the driver. He raced through the trees as if the
police were after him.

He drew up so short of breath, he could
hardly talk, sinking down on the bench. Zeke and Rory barraged him
with questions. "Where have you been? What did you find out?"

Duffy held up one hand, imploring them to
stop. "Over- all over," he gasped.

Zeke frowned, finding no sense in the words.
"What do you mean?"

"It's safe, Morrison. To go home. No more
police. Decker confessed to everything."

"What!" Zeke and Rory exclaimed in one
breath. Rory was swifter to accept the glad tidings than he.

She flung her arms about him. Zeke patted her
back in distracted fashion. After all these harrowing events, this
seemed all too easy.

"I don't understand any of this," he said. "I
still want to see Decker."

"Impossible." Duffy managed to straighten,
fanning his flushed face with his derby.

"Why not?" Zeke demanded. "Even if he's in
jail—"

Duffy shook his head. "Not jail, the morgue.
Decker's dead. He shot himself through the head last night."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Zeke Morrison had never realized that
returning to his own house could feel so strange to him. True, the
mansion on Fifth Avenue had never been exactly like a home, but he
had gone over the plans with the architect, had been there at every
step of the construction, was intimate with every brick, every
panel that had been laid.

Why then did the place seem so alien, so
overwhelming tonight despite the welcome he read in the faces of
his staff? Footmen, maids, even the cook stole peeks at him and
Rory from the shelter of doorways. Their eyes reflected a kind of
awe. He supposed it wasn't every servant in New York with a master
who had nearly escaped facing the hangman's noose.

Only the pert one called Maisie dared to step
forth and greet him. She curtsied, dimpling with that saucy grin.
"So good to have you back, sir. I told the rest of these simpletons
that you hadn't done anything."

"Thank you, Maisie," Zeke said dryly, but the
girl was already being elbowed aside by Wellington.

"That will do, Abrams." While Maisie
retreated, Wellington made Zeke his best bow.

"Welcome home, sir. When I heard you were
coming, I took the liberty of arranging a late supper by way of
celebration for the safe return of yourself and-" his gaze skated
doubtfully to Rory, "the young lady."

While Zeke was touched by the notion, he
didn't quite feel as though he had anything to celebrate.

"That's very considerate of you, Wellington,
but I don't think either myself or Miss Kavanaugh is really hungry.
Just damned tired."

Tired? That seemed an inadequate word to
describe just how drained he was, and if he felt a little lost in
his own house, Rory appeared even more so. She had wanted to return
to her own flat, but he couldn't bear to let her out of his
sight.

He draped his arm protectively about her
shoulders and watched her weary features summon a valiant effort to
smile. The devil knows, his staff had enough already to gossip
about, but Zeke didn't care. He had every intention of carrying
Rory upstairs, tucking her into his own bed.

"Miss Kavanaugh will be occupying my room
tonight," Zeke announced, "and I will take the guest room." He
ignored the protest that escaped Rory. "So perhaps you could just
send up a bit of that supper on a tray."

"Very good, sir. I shall send Peter up to
draw your bath." Turning, Wellington chastised the staff for
standing about and gawking. He sent them about their business,
which left Rory and Zeke alone in the foyer.

They faced each other in silence. He could
tell they were both feeling a little strange, but it was Rory who
put it into words.

"Suppers, baths, I guess everything really is
back to normal. It's just like everyone is telling us we were
having a nightmare." Her lip quivered a little. "Only we know it
was all real."

Zeke held out his arms, and she walked into
them, burrowing her face against his chest. "Yes, it was real," he
murmured. "But it is all over now."

They had spent the last few hours at the
police station with Duffy, confirming that fact. Charles Decker had
indeed killed himself, leaving behind a written confession of how
he had arranged Addison's murder and of his plot against Zeke. The
document had detailed Sergeant O'Connell's role in the affair, and
he, along with the two thugs who had assaulted Zeke, were in jail
themselves. Zeke had made positive identification of the two street
toughs. He would have liked just a few minutes alone with the
scarred one but of course that wasn't granted him.

Zeke was no longer a man on the run, but J.
E. Morrison, the millionaire, respected, soothed and patronized by
the chief of police.

"Don't you worry about any of these rogues,
Mr. Morrison," the chief had said. "The law will deal with them
now."

Zeke had had no choice but to retreat. He
supposed that was the price one paid for becoming rich and
respectable. One lost the luxury of settling one's own scores.

He ought to be grateful it was all over, out
of his hands, yet he felt as deflated as one of Rory's balloons. He
held Rory close, comforting her with words he didn't believe
himself.

"I guess what we have to do now, my dear, is
just forget the whole thing ever happened."

A difficult task. Whenever he closed his
eyes, he could still see Addison's youthful features contorted with
the rigor of death. Obviously it was difficult for Rory too. She
still seemed troubled, more edgy now than when they had been on the
run.

When someone rapped the knocker at his front
door, she started in his arms.

"Relax." He smiled. "We know it can't be the
police."

She tried to return the smile, but she still
looked tense when the knocking sounded again. "Aren't you going to
answer that?"

"No, that's what I pay Wellington for. Come
on." Guiding her gently, he had her precede him up the curving
stair. They were about midway when he heard the butler answering
the door.

Zeke didn't bother to look back, sure that
Wellington would say he was not at home. To his annoyance, he heard
the caller being admitted, the sound of a well-bred feminine accent
carrying up the stairs.

Rory appeared too tired to pay any heed. She
continued on, but Zeke froze, turning back. He nearly cursed
aloud.

Cynthia Van Hallsburg was the last person he
wanted to see. He couldn't imagine what she was doing here so late.
Garbed in a flowing opera cape of silvery satin, her diamonds
winking in the foyer's chandelier light, she appeared to have just
returned from some party.

Zeke wished he had had the wit to keep on
going, but now it was too late. Mrs. Van Hallsburg had seen him.
She stepped to the foot of the stairs, glancing up.

"John," she said softly.

He had no choice but to descend. "Good
evening, Mrs. Van H."

For once she made no effort to maintain
formality between them. She extended both her hands, which he took.
It was the warmest gesture she had ever made toward him, yet still
her fingers were cold.

"I am so relieved to see you home safe. I
have been through agonies since you disappeared, ringing your house
every few hours. When Wellington told me you were returning, I just
had to come over despite the lateness of the how."

Zeke shot Wellington a glare over her head.
The butler beat a hasty retreat. Zeke turned back to Mrs. Van
Hallsburg, summoning up a stiff smile.

"It's very good of you to be so concerned,
Cynthia. I have been through a hell— have had a bad time of it. I
was just about to collapse."

"I know that, poor boy, and I won't detain
you long. I only had to see for myself that you were unharmed and
to apologize."

"For what?"

"Why, for the ungentlemanly behavior of my
old friend, Charles Decker."

Ungentlemanly? Zeke nearly choked. "Yes, I
suppose murder does tend to place a man beyond the pale. I daresay
he would never have received an invite from the Vanderbilts
again."

"There is no need for you to be sarcastic,
John. You cannot imagine how shocked I was when I heard the things
Charles had done. I felt as though he had betrayed my trust as
well. When I think of how I introduced him to you, insisting he was
an honorable man!"

"I guess he fooled a good many people besides
you."

"But I knew him such a long time," she
murmured, "I should feel more at his death, the way he took his own
life, but I can't help thinking that it was better that way."

Zeke had difficulty agreeing with that, but
he said, "His suicide was rather unexpected."

"I suppose when you escaped he knew you would
return to expose him and couldn't face it."

"The man was such a coward, he seemed to me
more likely to bolt than to kill himself."

She gave an eloquent shrug. "Desperate men do
the most inexplicable things. I always--"

She broke off, staring past Zeke, her face
going rigid. She dropped Zeke's hands. Glancing behind him, Zeke
realized Rory had come back down, emerging from the shadows of the
upper stairwell.

Rory paused a few steps above Zeke, unable to
tear her eyes from that woman. It was only the second time in her
life she had ever seen Mrs. Van Hallsburg, but her first impression
held good. No wonder she had dreamed of her as the banshee. The
woman's eyes were like her diamonds, cold, brilliant and hard.

After her initial unnerving stare, Mrs. Van
Hallsburg's gaze roved over Rory in a disparaging fashion, making
Rory aware that she was still garbed in Annie's old gown. Rory had
never given much thought or care to what she wore. But at the
moment, she felt as though she would have sold her soul to be
dressed in a gown as regally elegant as Mrs. Van Hallsburg's, to
appear before Zeke just as beautiful, just as sophisticated. Facing
that woman this way was like confronting an enemy knight without a
suit of armor.

For too many moments, none of them said
anything. Rory experienced a kind of fierce triumph when Mrs. Van
Hallsburg was the first to look away.

"What is this person doing here?" she asked
Zeke.

Zeke replied with barely restrained civility.
"Miss Kavanaugh is my guest."

"I see." Never had two words been so fraught
with icy scorn and insult. Rory felt her cheeks burn.

"Not that it's any concern of yours," Rory
blurted out. Her retort sounded childish by comparison with Mrs.
Van Hallsburg's rigid self-possession. Zeke stepped hastily in
between them.

"Miss Kavanaugh is tired. She was just on her
way upstairs." Turning to Rory, he touched her cheek, his eyes
alight with tenderness and reassurance. He said in a low voice, "Go
on, Rory. Don't worry about her. I'll get rid of her."

Although Rory reluctantly complied, she was
worried. She had an urge to remain at Zeke's side, to protect him.
A strange notion indeed, for what sort of protection could Zeke
possibly need, he such a huge strapping man and Mrs. Van H. such a
thin blade of a woman?

All the same, Rosy lingered, her troubled
gaze following the pair of them until they vanished into the
study.

Zeke would just as soon have showed Mrs. Van
Hallsburg the front door, but he could tell that she would not be
so easily dismissed. Nor did she intend to enact any scenes within
hearing of the servants. It was she who selected the study,
obliging him to follow her.

As Zeke lit the gas jets, he flinched at the
sight of the room he would connect forever with what he now thought
of as that fatal confrontation with Decker. If only he had known,
he could have throttled the little weasel then. Maybe Addison would
still be alive.

It didn't seem fair that the room remained so
unchanged, so mundanely normal. Hell, even the Joseph Riis book
with its stark images of life on the East Side remained on his
desk, right where he'd left it. The text seemed to stare up at him,
a grim reminder of Addison and all his dreams, his vows to do
something to change all those harsh realities.

Zeke thrust the book to one side, having no
desire to linger in the study, so thick with memories that seemed
to hang like the dust in the air. He wished Mrs. Van Hallsburg
would say her piece and be gone. He knew it was going to be about
Rory and he wasn't going to like it.

She paced off a few steps as though seeking
just the right words to convey her displeasure. "This was not
exactly the reception I had hoped for, John."